if i made you a map, would you find your way home?
by antivancrows
Summary: Opposites attract. Or something.


**Main Story Spoilers! (ALL OF THEM ALMOST) Strong language/Violence (not descriptive, but still there)**

 **If I need to up the rating bc I like writing bad words, please let me know. I don't wanna offend anyone.  
**

* * *

To someone like him, she is an enigma. A snake that shed her former skin so easily that it almost makes him envious. To be able to embrace the beast inside so wholly and unafraid - well. It's certainly not for Toreadors. It's certainly not for Ash Rivers.

 _he clings to his humanity because it's all that he has; without it he's already dust gathering at the bottom of hollywood, useless - alone - forgotten - irrelevant_

To someone like her, he is as good as his namesake. Ash. If you cannot adapt, you cannot survive. It's a fact that's followed her into unlife. If you don't learn to hunt, you don't eat. Humanity is a nice thought, but what use does it have when you're no longer human?

 _the beast has always been with her, starving, even before the embrace; the only thing that's changed is its shape_

* * *

Every time he sees her bare foot and bared teeth, he feels unsettled. It makes the blood he drinks from young actors, actresses and aspiring models burn hotly in his gut. Feral, he thinks dazedly, he feels feral and it is the one thing with absolute certainty that Ash Rivers is _not._

But he is _not_ human, either. And nothing reminds him of that more potently than her hunched shoulders and her dirty bare feet and carmine eyes.

When she feeds from the rabble that frequents the Asp Hole, he notices, she has a type. The misfits. She always seems to be able to sus them out. The guys in leather, slicking back their hair with gel and cigarettes hanging out of their mouths that are never actually lit. The girls who stick to the walls, either too cool to dance or too afraid. Loners at the bar, neither lonely or content. Just being.

She never tries too hard. Not like a Toreador would.

They seem to gravitate towards her, like a pack of wolves drawn to their alpha.

It makes him sick. Reminds him of his days when he still had groupies, still had people tripping over themselves just to spend time with him. He could still have that now, but if he has to use his unbeating heart to do it, what's the point?

She never seeks him out, despite having to know that this is his domain, his _haven_. Even if the term makes him scoff when used aloud, his Toreador pride demands the respect that it entitles him to. So, he seeks her out instead.

He watches as one of his bouncers talks to her, congratulates her on making VIP, like that has any meaning here of all places. He watches as she bites at her lip with a fang, shoots her glowing carmine gaze towards the balcony where he waits and narrows her eyes.

As she climbs the staircase, he can smell the suspicion rolling off of her in waves.

"Have a seat," he says, keeping his tone light.

She does. But she keeps her knees tucked to her chest, sitting like a child might. Her posture is terrible, as always, but he won't be the one to tell her. This close, he can tell her toenails are painted blue.

"Ash Rivers," he introduces himself, achingly nostalgic for the days when it wasn't necessary.

At this, her severe scowl drops and she actually smiles enough to show fang. "I know who you are."

He doesn't need to breathe, but still he sighs. "Negative Zero?"

"Isaac Abrams."

It shouldn't surprise him so much, but he actually chokes in his rage. She laughs and draws the attention of some of the Kine in VIP and immediately shrinks in an effort to make herself smaller and quieter.

"Sorry," she says quietly, not looking apologetic so much as uncomfortable.

"Yeah," replies Ash, still brimming with annoyance.

"So. What do you want?"

"...Excuse me?"

The Gangrel blinks at him, glowing eyes growing impatient. He stares, transfixed. "If I've learned anything from Hollywood, it's that Toreadors don't start conversations in an effort to make friends. So, yeah. What is it _you_ want?"

"Maybe I just wanted conversation. You _have_ been feeding in my have - _bar_ , after all."

"Yeah, I also feed in the sewers but you don't see the Rat King himself trying to chat me up just because."

"Sewers? You mean...?" The nauseated expression on his face makes her grin slightly.

"You almost turned as green as Isaac when I mentioned it to him." That laugh returns, barking and feral. A few Kine turn again, intrigued by its call.

He understands now. The nature of her - of all Gangrel, maybe - it sings to the primitive side of humans. It pulls them in. Not so flashy as Toreadors in smiling charmingly, or Ventrues in dominating wills entirely, but still predatory in nature.

"- _Anyway_. If we're done here..." She stretches her legs out, plants her feet on the carpet. Her back straightens momentarily before hunching back over and. And...

And, he doesn't want her to go.

"- Hunters. Vampire hunters," he blurts, and one of her thinly arched eyebrows raise in question. Still, she sits back down, at least mildly interested. "They're crawling all over Hollywood. You haven't noticed?"

At this, she rolls her eyes. "I passed at least two on my way in. I've _noticed_. Your bouncers just suck."

"They're Isaac's," Ash offers dryly. "Anyway, it's becoming a pain in the ass. They aren't actually skilled as far as I can tell. Haven't figured me out yet, at least. But they still show up every night, clockwork, so they must have a reason to suspect something."

"Alright," the Gangrel drawls, tilting her head in thought. "And you want me to _what_? Waste them?"

"Not..." Ash grimaces. "Not exactly. _I_ want out."

At this, she actually has the audacity to look shocked. _"Out_?"

"Out of Hollywood." Out from under Abram's thumb - away from this Camarilla versus Anarchs bullshit. Just. Out. "I'm not stupid, I know there's no way I'm making it out of this city alone. At least, not the usual way... You said you know your way around the sewers?"

A few expressions play across her face. Initially suspicion, of course, but then it fades to something akin to pity. The effect of it is mostly lost in the intense burning in her glowing eyes, however. "Why?"

"I told you. It's a pain in the ass. All of it."

"It's going to be a pain in the ass no matter where you are."

"What are you? Like, a week old?" His tone is less accusatory than the words themselves, still she stiffens like she's just been struck. "How the hell would _you_ know?"

Her eyes narrow. The sight sends shivers up his spine - _fear_?

"Fucking Toreadors," he hears her mutter, something he might have missed if he were human. He shoots her a pointed glare in response, but she only shakes her head of unruly hair and growls. "If we're doing this, we're doing it my way. And _you're_ having a conversation with daddy-dearest before we do. I don't need Abrams up my ass about assisting his runaway kid, fuck."

Ash is still reeling from her sudden aggression before she throws what appears to be a burner phone at him. He turns it over in his hands, astonished. Where did she even...? "Call the second number in the contacts tomorrow. I've got shit to do tonight. Also, if you don't put on your big boy pants and talk to Isaac, I will." And with that, she's gone with a leap off the VIP balcony.

Regret, is the feeling that immediately comes to mind. What's he gotten himself into this time?

* * *

" _You_."

Isaac has never liked her in all the time he's known her, she knows this. Still, the accusation lacing his tone does little to lighten her mood, as much as she likes pissing him off. Ever since she fucked his graveyard ghoul... A girl's got needs, y'know?

And this girl has little patience for weird Kindred familial affairs.

"It wasn't my idea," is the first thing out of her mouth.

"Oh, _I'm sure_ ," Abrams paces, glaring in distain at her dirty barefeet on his precious carpet. With that stick-up-the-ass kind of walk he does, eventually he makes his way to the front of his desk, and stares her down. "Do you know how Ash was turned?"

"I don't really care?"

"He _overdosed_ ," Isaac exhales, glowering. "I did what I thought best. I couldn't sit and watch that talent go to waste - to just - He was _wasting_ all of it! He was going to throw it all away. He never knew how to handle fame as a human, losing himself in _...carnal affairs and drugs_! I thought I saved his life that night, but it appears I've only made things worse..." At this, he lets out a pitiful sigh.

Goddamn Toreadors and their internalized romanticism.

"You should've let him die," she offers, bluntly. "He doesn't know how to adapt. Not in the ways that matter. I think you knew that this was going to happen eventually. If it makes you feel better to blame me, fine. You're the one who acted out of sentimentality."

Isaac stares her down, golden gaze stern. If she hadn't been dealing with the literal Prince of hell himself for the past few weeks, she might have felt intimidated. "...You're not wrong..."

"Also, he's not actually your son."

"Enough," Isaac breathes out, finally looking angry again. " _Where_ will he go? Our kind are hunted nearly everywhere. At least he would be safe here."

At this, the Gangrel shrugs her shoulders. "He didn't tell you?"

"He didn't tell _you_?" the Baron parrots back, accusing once more.

"I think he's pissed 'cause I fed in his bar one too many times, and now he thinks he has the right to call in favors. Whatever. Not like he's the first, but that's all."

The old Toreador doesn't look nearly so convinced. "Right...You'll make sure he gets there safely, won't you? Wherever he might end up?"

"I already said I would."

"Of course. Naturally, you understand my caution. You _are_ still working for the...Prince, after all." _The Prince's lapdog_ , is what he doesn't call her, though she desperately knows he's eager to.

"Ash is about as Anarch as I am, that is to say, he probably doesn't give a fuck either way."

"Of course." Isaac sneers, or comes as close as Toreador pretty boys (old men) can.

Unable to resist digging in the heel a little deeper, she smirks. "Romero around?"

* * *

When he calls, he does so fashionably late. Predictably, he isn't in the mood for traipsing around with angry Gangrels after dealing with a distraught Sire. He flips the burner phone in between his hands, pondering. The hunters still linger around the lounge, vigilant as ever. No one else seems to notice or care about the obvious heat they're packing. Isaac's ghouls guard the doors, unaware. Useless as ever.

With a sigh, he calls the agreed number and puts the phone up to his ear.

It rings three times before a voice finally responds. "Where are you going, anyway?"

"What - "

"This little escape plan. Where does it lead? Isaac just informed me that I have to babysit you the entire way, unless I want the Anarchs on my ass, too. So. Where are we going? Keep in mind if you say we're fleeing the country, I reserve the right to feed you to the sewer rats. I don't have _time_ , got it?"

He's never heard her say so much in so little time before. "Well, there goes my original plan," Ash remarks dryly.

" _Which was_?"

"Canada."

There's a pause, and then.

"What the fuck is in _Canada_?"

"Nothing. That's kind of the point."

He can hear her muffled laughter. "You're so...dramatic. Whatever. Canada is manageable, if you're so insistent. I just, ugh, don't have time to hop a plane to cross any oceans, yeah? You got a car?"

Fire. Ambulance sirens. _'How did he survive this_?' ' _It's a miracle_!' _'You're one lucky young man_.'

"No," he admits. "I kept getting in accidents on purpose, so Isaac cut my funds. I could probably afford to rent one, though."

"Dads, _am I right_?" she snarks, sounding less judgmental than he would have initially thought. "Don't bother. I know a guy, kind of owes me. But since we're using the sewers to get out of Hollywood undetected, probably best to have him leave it someplace else. I'll have to do some mapping. Ugh..."

At first, Ash assumes she's annoyed with him, which is understandable enough. But, then another voice faintly reaches the line and she sighs again. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, 'm fine. But... look. Don't leave the Asp Hole, okay? Not until I get shit settled. Just. Don't leave."

The other voice starts speaking again, more insistently. It's still too faint for even Ash's enhanced hearing to catch.

"What's wrong?"

"Just. Don't leave. Don't even leave the VIP lounge, okay? I'll call you in a bit. I've gotta deal with this."

When the dial tone reaches him instead of her unusually weary voice, Ash only feels annoyed. Who is she to tell him what to do? Without explanation, even? It's the same shit Isaac tries to pull, constantly, and at least he has the excuse of being his Sire. What is she to him, but a means to an end?

Fury fueling him, Ash Rivers does what he does best.

He fucks up.

* * *

She told him not to fucking move. She _told_ him. Why couldn't anyone just listen? She wasn't La Croix. She wasn't Abrams. She didn't give orders lightly, or suggestions even, unless she had a solid fucking reason.

"Idiot," she hisses, fingers balling into angry fists at her sides. " _You absolute moron_. If they don't serve his second death to him first, _I'm_ going to kill him."

"You will not," intervenes Isaac, a true reprimand.

" _Alright_ ," Romero drawls, "why don't we all just calm down?"

"I _told_ him not to move - I. Why does no one listen to me? Is it because I'm not one of _you_? Because I don't wax poetic about every Kine I drink from, or eat roses for breakfast? Because I'm a _beast_?" She glares at Isaac at this, and he even has the sensibility to look abashed. "I was trying to help."

"Oh, sweetie," V.V. purrs from where she's perched on Isaac's desk, legs folded. "We know. This isn't your fault."

"I know it's not my fault. It's _his_. For being a massive idiot-tool."

"Maybe if you hadn't encouraged his idle fantasies - "

"Oh, _fuck off_!" Romero has to hold her back from lunging at Isaac. Her attachment to her humanity has always been shaky at best, but in this moment she wants nothing more than to tear someone's throat out. She can feel the Beast humming musingly just beneath her skin. It wants out. It wants to kill.

Romero murmurs something unintelligible in her ear that she's too angry to understand, but the gentleness he presents leaves her a little more stable. "Fine. I'm fine," she grumbles, still pissed. Romero lets go of her at once. "What's the plan, Almighty Baron?"

Isaac exhales, irritated, but disregards her jab. "We can't all go after him. We don't know how many hunters they have, just the ones that have been littering the city...We don't even know _where_ to look exactly."

V.V purses her lips. "And where do we turn to when things are unclear? Seemingly unsolvable?" She looks pointedly at Isaac.

"The Nosferatu," he sighs, looking decidedly unhappy about it.

"Gary," the Gangrel specifies, looking about as happy as the rest of them. She taps a finger to her nose, staring at the rest of them with intent. "Not it."

V.V lets out a breathy laugh, quickly following suit. Romero grins crookedly as he taps his own nose, while Isaac glares at all of them in contempt. "I'm _not_ gallivanting around in the sewers..."

"...Not even for your precious vampire son?"

"You're the one who feeds in his domain! You go," Isaac argues, sounding like a petulant child, yet still too dignified to go the whole nine yards and stomp his feet. Seeing that no one is likely to budge, he sighs resignedly. "...Very well. But once this is over, and Ash is safe, we are to never speak of this. Understood?"

"Of course," V.V chimes, ever the dutiful weird-adopted-childe.

"You got it, boss," nods Romero, folding his arms across his chest solemnly.

" _Rat sucker_." The Gangrel grins, before putting her hands up in defeat at Isaac's severe glower. "Sorry, had to get it out of my system... at least once. V.V you should ask around your domain, see if anyone's been up to anything suspicious?" When the dancer nods her affirmation, she continues. "Romero, try not to let a zombie apocalypse happen while we're gone?"

"No promises," he winks.

Rolling her eyes, she goes on, looking firmly at Isaac this time. "I'll check with the Cammy first. See if La Croix's people have been keeping tabs on the hunters. If that comes up nothing, I'll check with Nines and the rest."

"I'd rather not get La Croix involved," admits Isaac, tone clipped.

"Yeah, yeah. _Down with the Camarilla_. Whatever. You really wanna trade meeting with La Croix for Gary?"

The Baron actually almost shudders in repulsion. "I understand. If you must, you must. Still, report your findings to Nines if you cannot reach me immediately. He has a decent following downtown that could be helpful in the search."

"Got it," she breathes, before dashing out the door without so much another word, and as her feet hit the pavement and adrenaline gathers in her veins, she can think of nothing but fire and ash.

The Beast wants a fight.

* * *

Goddamn it.

In spite of his suicidal tendencies, he really should've known better. There's no beauty in dying at the hands of a bunch of glory seeking vampire hunters. In fact, it's a shitty way to go. There will be no articles detailing his life in the limelight if he goes like this - no mourning for the star he used to be - this _isn't_ what he wanted. Not how it was supposed to go.

Why didn't he just listen to the girl with blue toes and that terrible frizzy hair?

Sometime between the initial staking, temporarily paralyzing him, and him waking up _pissed,_ they had stuffed him inside a cage. Some of them come up to him, just to get a look, to sneer, to pray at him - trying to exorcise his demons or some shit. Little did they know. He is his own demon, he always has been.

If Isaac couldn't purge the stupid out of him by making him a monster, these assholes honestly stood no chance.

One of the more brash hunters eventually starts prodding at him, testing his tolerance for pain. Torture? Is it torture if you're a monster? If you have limited capability to _feel_? Ash isn't sure. But, boy, does it still fucking suck.

The praying doesn't stop. It doesn't necessarily do any more harm than the stabbing and mutilating, but you know, it does grate on the very last of his undead nerves so there's that.

" - _and if I meet death tonight, then let it be first that I cast a mighty host of demons back into the lake of fire whence they came_ \- " the prayer is cut off abruptly by the horrible sound of someone choking on their own blood.

"Eat shit," a familiar voice demands.

It sounds like music, the chaos that follows. In his debilitated state, he can barely just make out her familiar shape claw her way through the small gathering of hunters. Taking her time, making sure each one suffers in their own way. He wants to laugh, but he's just so tired and she's just so unreal.

There's another Kindred, he can tell. Whoever it is, they take a more reserved approach, ending it swiftly - as if it's a chore, and they're above putting in an effort entirely.

"Are you almost done?" The unfamiliar Kindred drawls.

"Not yet," she growls. And then there's a terrible howling, one with murderous intent. Ash has to blink, as a spectral wolf appears instantaneously and tears through the last of the remaining hunters. It dissipates as its work is done, almost as it never existed to begin with.

He knew Gangrels were fucking weird, but honestly...

"That was _hardly_ necessary."

"Maybe. But it felt fucking awesome," she laughs, and Ash is reminded of that night in the Asp Hole, where her laugh drew the attention of the Kine. It's the first time in a long time he's felt connected to his own humanity.

He thinks he's going to be sick.

In a flash, she's before him, giving him a decidedly stern look. "Suicidal pretty boys. Can't live with 'em."

"I should've listened," he admits, voice hoarse.

She works at picking the lock, clicking her tongue in response. "True." Once the door opens, she grabs him by the shoulder to keep him steady. "You think you can stomach rat blood? It's all I had time to grab."

Ash grimaces.

" _Toreadors_ ," she rolls her eyes. "Lucky for you, I'm a liar." The Gangrel hands him a blue blood pack that he takes hesitantly before tearing into it. It burns going down his throat, while the thoughts in his head scream ' _monster_ '. "Just wanted to see if you'd do it. Kind of disappointed. I'm totally gonna tell Isaac you did, though."

"Why?" he gasps out, tossing the empty bag aside. She glances at it, canines tugging at her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Because his reaction will be hilarious?"

"No. Why... Why did you come?"

"I believe I can answer that, if I'm not interrupting?" The unfamiliar voice intervenes, and by the look on the Kindred's face, he evidently _could not_ care less if he were truly interrupting at all.

Ash nods, motioning for him to continue.

"There are strange happenings in Kindred society as of late. I have a feeling they will only be getting stranger as the nights go on," the man offers, cryptically, which makes the she-wolf incarnate roll her eyes and scoff. The man sighs, as if used to her dismissal. "The hunters were, in particular, a threat to the Camarilla and Kindred as a whole. Now they've been dealt with, at least marginally."

"You aren't Camarilla," Ash guesses.

"No. Merely an interested bystander."

"Cut the shit, Beckett. You offered your help because I'm your favorite _Not-Childe_ , even though I totally could've wasted these wimps on my own."

Beckett purses his lips, eyes flashing behind those dark shades. "Yes, your impeccable display of self-discipline is truly a testament to how capable you are."

"It looked cool. And they all totally pissed themselves when they saw my wolves, admit it. It was cool, right?" Now, she looks to Ash for back-up.

Shrugging casually, he remarks, "I've seen better."

" _Better_? Like _what_?" She growls. "Alright, get back in the fucking cage. We're outta here, Beckett. This guy won't be impressed until I start reciting Shakespeare or whatever the hell, which _won't_ be happening in this century."

"Yes. I do believe it's time we left this...dreadful place."

For once, Ash finds he doesn't have the capacity to argue.

* * *

"So. Canada?"

"I...don't think so."

"Oh? Changed your mind? I'm _shocked_."

"Yeah, yeah... Just can't justify running anymore. Nothing to run from."

"Isaac?"

"He... means well. He always has."

"Isn't that the problem?"

"If you had a Sire, you'd understand."

"I'm not so sure."

"That Beckett guy. Is he not like a Sire to you?"

"He wasn't the one who... It's different, I think."

"But if he asked something of you, would you do it?"

"Probably. But I already do a lot of things for a lot of people, so again, it's different."

"I still don't get it."

At this, she barks out a laugh. "That makes two of us."

* * *

It's been three nights of assuming the worst.

She's dead. Nines is dead. The Anarchs have lost. (Not that Ash has much invested in the movement in the first place, aside from his relation to Isaac.) Still, the idea of the Camarilla running the show leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The idea of the Kuei-Jin running the show scares him even more.

Isaac tries his best to remain calm, to keep up appearances, but even Ash can see his confidence faltering. Nines was their guaranteed ace in the hole. The fledgling - _she_ was their wild card.

And they're both gone.

V.V runs her hands through his hair, hums some kind of lullaby in the quiet of Isaac's office, when they're all silently and collectively losing their minds. It should help but it doesn't. All he can see is her face wasting away to ash, to nothingness. Final death.

Romero speaks up one night, three nights in. "Where was she when she was breathing?" And it sounds like an inside joke, at least it makes Isaac squawk indignantly, which is enough to make Ash smirk wryly. V.V also seems to get it and laughs softly.

"They could've survived," V.V offers, though by her tone, Ash can tell she doesn't truly believe it. "They're both...strong."

"Yeah," he responds, swallowing the regret that builds in his throat.

He doesn't want her to go.

Not somewhere he can't follow.

It's frustration that forces him up and out the door, despite the protests of his present company.

' _It's not safe_.'

Since when did that ever deter suicidal pretty boys?

* * *

"You're one tough son of a bitch," she says, and Nines grunts when she runs a hand over a particularly nasty wound. "But probably don't take on a werewolf alone again."

"I'll try," he remarks snidely.

Their friendship has always been tentative. A flimsy thing born out of necessity rather than any sort of affection or attachment, which suits her fine. The Anarchs have a special way of pissing her off, just not nearly as much as the Camarilla. She leaves him for a moment to toss him a blood pack, and he takes it without question, gulping it down in nearly one go.

"Morphine?" Nines inquires.

"Nope," she pops the 'p' and smirks at his disgruntled expression. "Blood not enough for you, old man?"

"Next time, I'm leaving the werewolf to you, smart ass," he says, like its a warning but she only laughs giddily - the adrenaline in her gut fit to burst. After a few comfortable moments of silence, he adds. "La Croix is yours."

This brings a smile to her face. " _Oh. Truly_? Do you mean it?"

"Xiao Ming is mine."

This wipes the smile off real quick. For once, something like worry settles in the Gangrel's gut. "You're not fit to fight _Kine_ in this state, and you want to take on the leader of the Kuei-Jin? Are you fucking crazy?"

"This is personal."

"Yeah, I _get_ that," comes her reply, annoyed. "But if you try to fight her in this state, you'll only die and then Damsel and Skelter will have me flayed alive, so how about no? We also don't have the luxury of waiting for you to get better. The blood clearly isn't working fast enough, you still look like shit - Yeah, yeah, you're welcome, - I'll take them both. La Croix should be easy, it's just that guard I have to worry about, honestly."

"You want to take them on alone?"

"Why not?"

He thumbs at his nose, frustrated. "Listen - "

"You don't _trust_ me," she realizes. "You think I'll..."

"That's not it," Nines tries to argue. "But you're still young, technically speaking. You haven't been a vamp for more than a few months. I know you feel like you're invincible right now, but you aren't." He sounds genuine, at least. His blue eyes betray his guilt, but it's hard to really buy into.

"I can do it," she assures him. "I know you have this weird obsession with me because you saved my ass or whatever and we're both Sireless but can you just trust me? I - "

"I'm not _obsessed_ with you."

"- _Fine._ You have an equally weird hero-complex, then. Whatever floats your boat, boy wonder. All I'm asking for is a little faith, and you're kind of out of options."

At this, he sighs and she knows that she's won. "...There's something I need to tell you before you meet with La Croix."

Her returning smile is feral.

* * *

La Croix's building is little more than rubble.

And she storms out of the smoke and the destruction, a blissful smile upon her face. When she catches sight of him though, her eyes widen almost comically and the smile falls.

"What the fuck," he says, looking between her and the devastation, ultimately not feeling entirely surprised... like at all.

"We have to go," she interrupts quickly, grabbing him by the hand and breaking into a run in some random direction. "I think Damsel called the cops preemptively so there would be less shit to deal with. Maybe they'll send in the armed forces?" Something suddenly seems to occur to her, because she glances back over her shoulder, the both of them still heading towards some unknown location. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I - I came to kill La Croix?" _I thought you were dead? I thought I'd make a last ditch attempt at a romantic final death?_ There's really no polite way to tell someone you barely get along with that you were about to be the Romeo to their Juliet without any forewarning. That you couldn't bear the thought of them leaving you in their, in this case, literal dust.

As they round a corner, she finally slows and eventually stops running and he does too. The girl with frizzy hair and blue toes gapes at him. "... _What_? Why?"

"We thought you and Nines..."

"Nines is alive. Kind of pissy he missed out on the action, but alive."

"Oh," Ash replies dumbly. "That's...good."

"Debatable. He's real grouchy now." She bites at her bottom lip with a fang. "You know what happened to the Mage-y fuck?"

" _Who_?"

"Strauss," she presses impatiently.

Oh. The Tremere Primogen. "No?"

"He's going to kill me. But also I kind of warned him this would happen? He's gonna send one of his disgusting gargoyles after me. God, okay. We need to get to the Last Round. Group up with the rest. Where are Isaac and V.V?"

"At Isaac's."

"Romero?"

"He's with them," Ash answers, feeling annoyed. "Are you ever going to explain what the fuck just happened?"

"I blew up La Croix, that's what happened. And we're going to be in a lot of trouble with the Camarilla from now on, I think, which is why we need to _go_."

"La Croix is gone," Ash clarifies as they begin making their way to the bar downtown once more. "La Croix is gone, and you killed him."

"Yes. The sarcophagus is gone, too, in case that matters. Beckett might not be happy, but I didn't really have a choice. Jack didn't leave me with much of a choice in the end," she sounds vaguely amused, rather than annoyed like he expected.

"The Kuei-Jin?"

"Mmmm. Their leader's dead but I imagine when the ones back home figure it out, they aren't going to be too pleased either... Canada's sounding really good right about now, huh?"

At this, he laughs breathily. "You're insane."

"Yeah, well. Just don't expect anymore favors anytime soon. I'm done with everyone. Maybe I _will_ pack up and move to Canada where no one can reach me."

"Canada's too tame for you, I think," he argues with a small smile. "You'd be back within a week."

She glances back at him, lips tugging upwards. "We'll see."

* * *

 **BONUS: (prepare2 cringe I can't write happy endings)**

"Guess who," comes a strangely familiar voice, one that he'd thought he might never hear again, not after she ran off with her pseudo-Sire, seeking adventure and 'enlightenment' or so she called it. Damsel almost went after her, in a fit of rage, until Nines reminded her that the hardest part was over.

It's been years. Maybe a decade, if he'd been bothering to count.

Yet, at the sight of familiar bare feet and a toothy grin, Ash nearly melts.

Goddamn Toreador internalized romanticism...

"Hey," he offers, throat dry. When did he last feed? He doesn't remember. Suddenly, he can't remember much, except the mix of regret and dread he felt when he watched her go with a bland ' _see you later'_.

"Am I still VIP?"

"No shoes, no service," he quips, and she laughs though her eyes glance sidelong at him, like she's searching. He hopes she finds whatever she's looking for. But most of all, he hopes she doesn't leave again.

It must be written on his face because she glances to the side, awkwardly. Like, she can read his mind and can't begin to fathom his decidedly Toreador feelings. He takes this moment of quiet to study her.

Her hair is shorter. She's still clearly reticent to the idea of shoes, and though he should mind her tracking her dirty feet all over his club's carpet, he doesn't. When she glances back towards him, she smiles in a way that she never has before. It's softer than the usual ones. No bared teeth, just... a smile.

"I learned a new trick," she says slyly, which wipes all preconceptions of her being a little sweeter now swiftly away.

"Oh?" He asks. "A discipline no doubt. Been a while, I'd be shocked if you hadn't learned anything... but then again. You are _you_."

"Watch it, pretty boy," she turns her nose up at him. "Or I won't show you."

"Alright, let's see it, just... not here," he says, glancing at the Kine littering the bar. Some of them have their attention firmly trained on her - still magnetic in all the ways that matter, it seems. "Come on," he says gesturing over his shoulder and leading her through a small maze of halls to his private quarters.

"Are you taking me to your _bedroom_? You Toreadors are very presumptuous."

"You feel like violating the Masquerade?"

"Why not? Nines is Prince now, yeah? We fought a werewolf together. That makes us ride-or-die buds, or something. I'm above the law."

"Call him that to his face and you might reconsider that stance."

She laughs, and it's just like he remembers it. "Okay," she says, as they enter the room and he shuts the door behind him with a quiet _click._ "Close your eyes."

He stares at her warily. "This isn't going to...hurt, is it?" He remembers her spectral wolves and suddenly this little endeavor doesn't seem so funny anymore.

The Gangrel hums noncommittally before smirking. "Stop asking so many questions. I told you it'd be cool, right? Just trust me."

With that lack of reassurance, still, Ash shuts his eyes.

When he feels something nudging at his hand, he opens them, assuming it's okay. He yelps. " _What the fuck_!"

The wolf at his feet bares its teeth - _her_ teeth? - and lets out a harmless growl.

"Oh my god," his palm smacks his face, and somehow ends up tangled in his hair in distress. "You left for ten years to become a _dog_?"

This time the growl is a little more threatening.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I don't know why I didn't see this coming. You were always so fucking weird."

This time, she howls, clearly displeased with how unimpressed he is at her party trick.

"I guess... Not every Gangrel can do this right? You want me to be impressed?"

The ebony wolf with eerily glowing eyes nods its affirmation.

"Congrats, fido - OW! _Fuck_!" It's a superficial wound, really. It'll heal quick, even without feeding, but still. She bit his hand just hard enough to hurt and to draw blood. "You're _insane_ ," he hisses out, though he can already feel the injury start to fade.

The minute he takes to examine his hand is all she needs to transform back, and her expression is severe when he next sees it. "And you're an asshole."

"Excuse me?"

"Why did I think this would go any differently? You're _still_ an asshole. Nothing's changed."

"You're the one that _bit_ me! Was I supposed to be surprised? You already had managed to manifest claws before you left. This isn't...shocking or anything, okay? I already know how impressive you are. Is that what you want to hear?"

Her eyes drag up from the floor, glowering. "It doesn't mean anything now. Forget it. Maybe Isaac will find it funnier. At least I can expect him to get pissed off in a way that'll amuse me."

"-Wait," he calls after her retreating back, and to his immense surprise, she actually hesitates. "I... don't want to leave it like this. Are you staying?"

She glances over her shoulder, expression still mild. "Why?"

"Because... we have catching up to do, don't we?"

" _For what_ ," she presses, looking annoyed. She turns on the heels of her feet to face him completely. "You don't have to pretend to be interested now because your Toreador pride demands that you're liked by everyone. We barely got along before, nothing has to change now. Just. Forget it."

"You came here for a reason. You don't... You don't just show up at someone's door years later just for no reason. Even as a Kindred. So just tell me what it is," he hates that it sounds like he's pleading. He doesn't want her to go, not again. Not before this, whatever it is, gets settled.

At this, her nostrils flare.

She's warring with herself over something and Ash Rivers is just arrogant enough to think it's him.

Her bare feet storm towards him, on a mission, and she looks him dead in the eye before pulling him down by his collar.

"You're a real piece of work, you know? I had to leave. I don't give a _fuck_ about vampire politics, in case it wasn't obvious. I didn't even want to get involved with La Croix or the Kue-Jin or even the fucking Anarchs. I didn't even want to be a vampire, but I had no say in that either. Surprise. But you know what? I dealt with it. I haven't seen the sun in years. I never will again. There's something inside of me that's constantly screaming for blood, but I deal with it."

She exhales, eyebrows furrowing. Ash's eyes follow her every movement, transfixed. "And you're an asshole. The minute I met you, I knew you were fucking useless. You weren't suited to be a vampire, you couldn't handle it. But then... "

"I'm going to pretend like you didn't just call me useless," Ash remarks, arching a brow.

" _But then_ ," she continues glowering up at him for his little interruption. "Everything changed. I started giving a fuck when I should've gave none. I started... feeling human things again, after I'd decided I didn't need that shit anymore. You ruined my undead life and I hate you."

Ash smiles at that.

"Did you just fucking hear me? I said _I hate you_ ," she argues. "Wipe that fucking smirk off your face, Rivers."

"I heard a lot of things," he leans down, and watches her carmine eyes narrow. "But none of it sounded like the truth?"

With a growl, she got on her tip-toes, and kissed him hard enough to bruise - _maybe_ _if they were human_ \- and showed him just what the truth was, in fact.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Disclaimer: If white wolf wants to fight me for having bad ship opinions and keeping Ash Rivers safe, give them my user I'm not afraid  
**

* * *

 **o k a y... I wrote the start of this months ago so if it feels like at a certain point it's not quite? consistent? Sorry 'bout it  
**

 **The true ship of this story is me/my thirsty need for Beckett to adopt every Gangrel PC  
**

 **(I'm also not positive on whether or not Gangrels (that aren't Beckett) can *actually* transform into full on four-legged wolves, and not just the ugly werewolf looking abominations they become, let's just pretend they can if they have a good teacher ok?)**


End file.
